In the wake of her father's death, Spencer Edwards' mother packs up their lives from Oxford, England, and moves them to the middle-of-nowhere Texas. With an agitation for agriculture, and a distaste for anything farming, the small town of Cherry Spr...
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What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart, and frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. - Charlotte Bronte
Chapter Song - Wings by Birdy
Do you ever wake up but believe it's still a dream? That haziness when you're fluctuating in and out of sleep, where you're half drowsy and incoherent, but also fully aware.
And being fully aware is the problem as of now.
When we sleep, we're meant to gain rest. Our brains are meant to take a breath, our bodies shut off, and we finally get some peace. No talking, no sounds, no pain, just a whole world of sleep and the odd dream or two.
But for me, sleep hasn't been sleep in months.
Ever since dad died I've had the same nightmare every night. It may not be the exact same scenes or pacing like the repetition of a movie, but the feeling...That icky, sticky, heavy feeling of tar in my stomach remains.
My body is cold with sweat, my eyes sting with tears that don't have the ability to fall. The window that shows the vast landscaping of fields provides some better view, but you're mind is a powerful, angry thing.
And I woke up today, but did I?
"Spencer, sweetheart, it's morning. Do you want some breakfast?" Mum's voice is soft as the door creaks open. I don't acknowledge her. My eyes are open, but they don't move. I don't move them. The bed dips as she takes a seat on the edge, and her stare creases worry over my face. "Spencer? Are you alright?" She asks.
No. I'm stuck.
I want to say that. Open my mouth and tell her I can't get out of bed. That I don't know if I'm still in a nightmare or not. But we call nightmares 'nightmares' for the soul reason that they reflect the world we intend to escape from.
"Spencer?" She questions again.
I blink. That's it.
Am I paralysed? No, I can wiggle my toes.
"Duckling?" Her voice cracks a bit. "My baby, what's wrong?" She's moved to crouching down to my eye level, and though she blocks the window, thats all I stare at. It's like she's transparent.
Her hand brushes over my forehead, wiping hair from my face. She checks my temperature, feeling the back of my damp neck. "You're a bit warm, do you feel alright?"
I blink again.
"I'll be right back, I'm gonna get Grandma. Okay?" Her voice is weak, the kind thats holding back a sob. And with a kiss to my head, she rushes out of my room, leaving her worry all around the house in a panic.
And yet even in her panic, in her fierce worry I don't want her to feel, I can't move. I just can't seem to stop staring at the window. It's too far away, and why bother even trying to reach it if I know for a fact I'll never get there?
